Shades of Green
by The Tiramisu Of Impending Doom
Summary: The story takes place five years after the events of FFIV. King Cecil rules Baron, unaware of an arising danger that threatens to destroy the land once again. Friends both old and new must fight as one to face the perils ahead. KainxRydia, contains OCs.


Shades of Green – 1

Disclaimer: Final Fantasy 2/4 is property of Square-Enix, and any original aspects belong to me. Naturally.

Author's Note: Kain and Rydia have pretty much no dialogue in the game, so it was nice having that much freedom in writing this. The story will feature a few other characters in addition to the in-game ones, but if you've read my crap you already know I do that from time to time. And guess who's taking liberties? That's right, I'm taking liberties. And if that bugs you, then you might have to ninja vanish and read something else.

Most important of all, I think another person wrote a Rydia story with the very same title, but neither of us copied the other person, and I'd been writing the thing before I found her tale online. Just thought I'd clarify that in case she has pissed off fans or something.

And without further babble, I hope you enjoy the tale…

-

When the Elder was killed, no trace of his body was left behind, though evidence of his murder remained, and Porom could see that all of this was work of powerful magic.

High in the tower, a plant had inexplicably grown through the cracks of the stone floor, winding, climbing the wall on a sturdy vine of poison ivy. Morbid images rarely haunted her, but for some reason, it all reminded her of a neglected gravesite, with weeds and other unattractive things growing around a stone.

She wondered, bitterly, if someone had planned it that way.

She shook her head, her face contorted in despair at the dark thoughts. Was she truly still a child? It was hard to believe, after all she'd seen. Her kindly Master, her dear friend, was dead now, and she didn't want to think about how it happened, but she needed to know the truth. Visions of what might have happened to the poor man would plague her mind, she knew, to hinder her studies and keep her wide awake for countless nights.

She left her brother's side from where he stood in the doorway with his face a stony mask. She could feel his regret, his sorrow. He would yell later, resentfully, and apologize afterward. He'd grown up a little in these past five years, but his temper could not be helped, especially now.

And she didn't require her master's insight to know that she would never see her brother study the ways of magic so industriously until after this day.

Furthermore, the mages of Mysidia rarely dealt with crimes like these, even though many users of the dark arts had often engaged in trivial battles with one another. And so, on the day of his death, they sent for an old scholar from the eastern town of Dawarre. He held the power to determine the story of any object simply through touch, and so his skills were critical for instances of murder. At the word of the Elder's death, the man came at once, arriving much later that evening.

He glided up the tower stairs on weary feet, sluggish in his old age as well as in his grief. The Mysidians stepped out of his path, watching gloomily as he made his way to the dismal scene.

He inspected their faces as he passed. Grateful but sorrowful, as expected, but he knew that once the funeral was held, they would return to mocking him, as they usually did. Perhaps one day, they would realize that without his efforts, they would be lost. He had better luck with companions in Dawarre, where most retired fools went to drown their troubles in beer and whores. He, of course, had no energy for the latter, since he expended so much time and effort on the drinking.

He nearly smiled wryly, as was his tendency in such dark times, to carry him out of the moment, but his current company would find such uncouth, and rightly so, for circumstances such as these.

He shooed the thoughts from his mind as he got down on one knee before the coiling branches of ivy, reluctant but determined to come to a conclusion.

He heard the twins come up from behind to stand at either side of him, watching him work, ready to assist him should he need it.

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, and then opened them again. _Great powers of Light, grant me the eyes to see the evil that has been wrought here. Lay gently to rest the soul of the dear Elder Mardus._

He lifted a bony hand then, stretching it out until he could press his palm to the cool stone floor close to the ivy.

Nothing. Peace.

His eyelashes fluttered down in denial. _No, there must be... something..._

His hands wandered on, until the moment when images poured into his mind without warning, so suddenly as though a sure arrow had been released to find its way to him from behind. Mercilessly, the pictures bombarded his thoughts and he opened his mouth and gasped for breath that couldn't come fast enough. The scene unfolded in pieces in his mind, and just as swiftly as the pictures came, they vanished. As he waited for his heartbeat to slow, he slowly linked the pieces together to form a more coherent account for those gathered around him.

"Earth... and time," he spoke to himself, somewhat deliriously.

"What?" Palom spoke irritably beside him, kneeling down to glare at him. The old man didn't have to turn his head to see the look in the boy's eyes to know.

"There were servants of Zemus here," he began to clarify as his senses came back to him. Dare he try to name them? Yes, he would give them something. He owed them a name, at least, even if he didn't know everything. "The Spawn of Fiends." He closed his eyes tighter, anticipating the response.

The other mages murmured amongst themselves, opting to remain quiet, save for one.

"But that... that makes no sense! Zemus... he was—Cecil and the others—! They defeated him!" Palom shook his head, his overburdened mind working too fast for him to properly construct his sentences.

Opening his eyes, after having expected the young mage's reaction, he patiently replied, "It wasn't just any pair of sorcerers. I felt a stronger force, and Zemus' servants are the only possibilities we have at the moment. I understand your frustration, but we'll have to investigate the matter further if we want the absolute truth... I can search the entire area of Mysidia all night if you wish, but I suspect my answer will be the same. I'm sorry, child."

Palom said nothing further.

Porom glanced toward her brother, noting his clenched jaw, well aware of his emotional struggle and feeling it just as strongly. She sighed and wearily shifted her gaze to the man at her feet.

"Mal-mori Nyte, please tell us," she murmured softly. "What has happened to our Master?"

He nodded firmly, and turned to look up at her with pale eyes.

"There were two cloaked figures," he replied softly. "One came through the window, wielding the power of poison and the growth of the ivy in earth. The other was hidden in the shadows of this tower, with the ability to control time. The first poisoned our Elder, while the other hastened the process. He'd coughed up blood, as the poison had infected his insides, swiftly working its way out. In what would usually take months, his body deteriorated in a matter of seconds, to blow away in dust. And the ivy you see here is what remains... That is what I saw."

Silently, she gazed back at him, wishing that she didn't hear those details, especially so... bluntly. But that's what she wanted, wasn't it? The truth. But it didn't seem like enough. She needed to know the reason for it all, but this man would not give that to her.

No, it was more than enough.

Tears stung her eyes, and she nodded, her lips tightly pressed together to keep her from crying out. Afterward, she took a step back, turning away from him. The walls seemed to tilt and spin around her, and her legs seemed unable to support her weight. She saw her brother reaching for her, his brow knit in concern, and she waved him off. He said something to her too, in that prickly tone of his, but she didn't hear him.

She staggered away then, willing her feet to carry her away before... before...

_...down the winding stairs... across the hall... just a few more steps..._

The moment she stepped out the door, she bent over and retched, but she had nothing to vomit up but her tears.


End file.
